Maybe love was always near
by Lizpi
Summary: The war is a distant memory but, when everybody was done and tired and quiet, Harry didn't know how to react. And he is still trying to figure it out.


He wakes up and feels _wrong_ in his body. He closes his eyes and tries to forget the lingering images of his dreams. He wants to sleep a bit more but he knows his body won't let him.

It's been two years and he still wakes up some days trying to remember that he can breathe without worries. His muscles ache and he tries to focus his blurry vision. The war is a distant memory but, when everybody was done and tired and quiet, he didn't know how to react. And he is still trying to figure it out.

He can hear his heartbeat drumming a frantic song in the hollow of his throat but it does not sound comforting, not at all. His skin feels warm and he has to get up in a couple of hours to go to work but for now, just because this is one of those mornings when he forgets how to be _human_ , he stays in bed. He listens very carefully and tries to hear the muffled sounds that normally come from the room next to his. Ron commonly snores softly every night and it makes Harry feel at _home_.

He can be broken and afraid and he can fail and make mistakes. He can feel guilty about everything but Ron always brings him back to the living world. And Harry may not say it to anyone but Ron has saved him more times that he likes to count.

He saved the small child in the train and he saved the fearless man that had two souls living inside of him. Harry doesn't want to imagine a life without Ron, really. He was the first person to give him the most precious gifts that money couldn't buy.

Friendship. Family. Loyalty. Laughter. _Love._

Harry doesn't laugh a lot these days but his friend always tries to put a smile on his face when he sees the devastating ocean of sorrow behind his green eyes. He smiles _for_ him and life goes _on._

For Ron, that meant mourning a brother who had too much joy inside his soul but was taken away from them too soon. It meant broken sobs every night they spend together at The Burrow. For his friend, it meant feeling like he was living inside a burning house. Not really understanding how to look at George without breaking his heart at the same time.

And for Harry.

For him, it meant feeling lost and exhausted. Like he was living inside a corpse. Not really understanding why or how he was _alive_ after all.

The months went by and the two of them live together now. The sobs are there, too. But they are not the angry, loud sounds he used to hear when he woke up after a vivid nightmare. Now, they were gentle noises that echoed almost sweetly through their little flat from time to time. Harry was at peace with the fact that sadness was always going to find a way into their hearts and squeeze a bit too hard sometimes. But it was all right because his home had always been by _Ron's side._

It's been two years and in mornings like these, Harry wishes he could _be_ a different man. He has so many scars that are invisible to his eyes and his grief runs deep within his bones but he wishes that he could feel differently. Dream differently. _Want_ differently.

But he doesn't, he knows he can't. He's sure of that because in the months after the final battle, he tried. He really did. Nevertheless, he couldn't be the man that people needed him to be.

Ginny had been a beautiful memory. She had been there for him and he had been there for her but it wasn't enough. And he felt like he was driving a hearse, trying to remember how to go back to that feeling of young crushes and falling in love when he thought there was no tomorrow. He loved her, he knows he did. But when all was said and done and they held each other, they knew they couldn't go backwards. They saw the person that had stepped out of that dreadful day at Hogwarts and the shapes inside their souls had changed. Their sharp and broken pieces didn't fit like they used to.

So, Harry lets life go _on_.

Hermione had been there for Ron, too. She was a bright spark of hope in their lives but when the fight was over and all the heroes had been buried, she had her own family to fix. She had to do it alone, she had told them and then she could go back to them, she had promised.

And she did, a few months later.

But just as Ginny's, the edges in her hands felt strange when they held Ron's tired ones. They had tried, the same as Harry had tried to be a different man but at the end, they stopped pretending it didn't hurt. They loved and let go and their friendship was still there, soft like a warm embrace, because they had lost too much to lose each other again.

So, Ron lets life go _on._

When the storm in their hearts became a gentle breeze, the three of them slowly moved on from their wounds and started living. Not like people wanted them to live but giving each day a chance.

Harry wanted to get away from fighting to stay alive all the time, but deep down, he knew he couldn't stop feeling like a tired soldier that didn't know how to handle life without the bitter taste of fear inside his mouth. Therefore, being an Auror was the only path he could have chosen, the only one he could navigate without losing his sanity. And Ron, being _Ron_ , had chosen to walk by his side.

He sits in his bed and breathes and breathes and _breathes._

He can't hear Ron's usual little noises so he repeats in his head that he is at home. Ron is here. Ron is safe. _Ron is home_. And even now that the sun is slowly warming its way through the sky, Harry recalls his nightmares and shivers. His life is better that he's ever thought it could be, and Harry is happier, but he knows his mind will always make him remember the weight it had borne for so many years.

Harry can feel the shift inside his veins when his friend slowly opens the door and watches him with concerned eyes. He wants to put his thoughts back together and tell him to go back to his bed. He's fine. _Perfectly fine_. But the sentences get stuck inside his lungs and when he breathes out and opens his mouth, there's only one thing he can say.

—Stay, please.— And he cringes because he feels like that skinny kid on the train again.

Ron doesn't say a word as he closes the door and walks slowly to his side. He sits on Harry's bed and looks at him.

—Do you want to talk about it, mate? —Ron asks him, almost whispering the words. And maybe Harry screamed when he was still asleep, maybe he had tossed around so violently that his friend had woken up immediately. Or maybe, just maybe, _Harry_ was Ron's home too, and he could feel every time that Harry needed to be _saved._

Harry doesn't want to talk about it, he really doesn't. He wants to scream and punch himself in the face and then maybe, he can pretend all is well. Later, he could joke around with his friend and convince himself that the shadows hiding inside the corners of his heart are only waking him up in the middle of this early morning because he had a difficult week at work and not because he can't _be_ a different man and _want_ differently.

Ron waits and stays quiet. He lifts his arm and places his right hand on Harry's left shoulder. The nightmares were there again and the fear of losing his friend drives him a little insane. He thinks, in that exact moment, that he would love to glue Ron's fingers to his frame and keep him close. He isn't sure if that thought had been there, at the back of his mind, all along.

He cannot remember a time in his life, _his real life_ , the one that started when he was eleven years old, feeling seen and cared for and loved, when he felt complete without him by his side. Harry knows they will always be together, keeping each other from drowning. Nonetheless, he's anxious and terrified and the images of holding a lifeless redhead in his arms keep flashing in front of his eyes. He wants to pretend he's not frightened and say something, _anything_ , but Ron knows he can't.

— You were crying out my name, Harry. — Ron utters with a tender expression in his face. —You kept asking me to stay. — He continues as he moves his hand to gently touch Harry's neck.

And Harry stays there, petrified, thinking that Ron will leave him because he can't be a different man. He wants. He wants so much and so little. He is glad to have him here but at the same time he's his home. And…

 _And he wants. Wants. Wants._

—I'm sorry. — Harry responds. And he feels his chest tightening because those are not the words he had wanted to say, even if they were _true._

—You know I…— and Ron breathes, trying to be brave. Trying to put some order to the words he knows his best friend needs to hear. — I will never leave you again, Harry. I know I left you when you needed me the most but...– And he breathes again, because he can still remember the cold feeling around his neck and the horrible things those whispers did to his heart all those years ago. Harry looks like he _needs_ him more than ever and he can do this, he can.

—I'm here, mate. Always. You'll always have me. I found my way back to you then and I'm not leaving now. Not when life is finally letting us have some bloody deserved peace. — Ron finishes with a silly grin because he needs to make Harry smile. That's all he desires lately.

But Harry doesn't smile. —I know that, Ron. I'm sorry. — He apologises again. —It isn't about that. I just, I saw you. You were...— and stops again because he truly doesn't want to talk about it. And tries to put some space between them because the hand on his neck is making him _want_ things he knows he can't have.

Ron doesn't let him, though. He moves again and takes Harry's hand and places it on top of his chest. The soft, thin fabric under his fingers makes him take a deep breath. And the song that Ron's heart is playing under his skin is slowly calming his own heartbeats.

Blue skies meet green landscapes and they look at each other for a moment that feels fragile as sunlight dances timidly against the window in Harry's bedroom.

There is _love_ in Ron's eyes. So much love bursting out and soaking his soul. Harry feels at home and maybe, just maybe, Ron doesn't need him to _be_ a different man.

He smiles at him and breathes.

And Harry and Ron let life go _on_.


End file.
